May 10 Monday – In Cambridge, Mass., Howells wrote Sam that “It’s ‘most time—quite time—for your seventh number: send what you’ve got; I know it’s good” [“Old Times,” the last installment] [MTHL 1: 82].

Mary Mason Fairbanks wrote to Sam.

“Is the Kennard House a good Hotel?” Is that question intended to disparage my house? Ohio has but one Hotel suited to your needs, and that is five miles out of Cleveland on the Lake Shore. If you were coming to canvass the entire state I should insist upon your getting back here to sleep at night. Neither can you get through Cleveland in one night— It is a long city—has grown since you were here. The Mississippi will wait for you, and Livy is a dear, good, reasonable woman, and if she lets you come at all, would prefer to have you take proper rest here at this Wayside Inn. If only she would come with you, and stay while you went on to the scenes of your “former greatness,” I should be the happiest of mothers. I am unreconciled to your not coming to us this summer, like a patriarch, with your herds and flocks and little ones. Oh I should so enjoy you all!—and I would be the loveliest grandmother Susie and Clara ever saw. [in margin: Do say you’ll come & see us this summer. We all want you—all of you—It is nothing to move a caravan now-a-days.] If you could write in the inspiring atmosphere of Elmira mountain, what could you not do here in our “Sunset pavilion,” or under our whispering pines? I am in a sort of ecstacy this morning for the hand of enchantment has touched everything with a new beauty. Last night there was a heavy rain and this morning the sun is laughing through every rain-drop— Diamonds and Emeralds hang from every limb and leaf—the cherry trees have burst into flower and look like huge bridal bouquets in all this wildwood of evergreens—the willows and the alders and the silver poplar make a sort of lace-work of pale green and grey between my eyes and the farther evergreens—and beyond, the lake goes sailing by in a sheet of peacock green—and still beyond is the grey line of sky which always seems to me the threshold of the undiscovered country— Mr. Fairbanks is in N. Y. or Philadelphia— We go east on the slightest pretext of business because we have two nice children there. Mollie writes to me in her letter of Saturday, to get “English Statesmen” & “English Radical Leaders”— She has enjoyed them so much & knows I will. Think of it!—in my heart she still nestles like the little Red Riding hood of the Nursery Rhymes— She is a simple little maid yet in looks & manners. I cannot bear to have you forget her. It just occurs to me— Is Mr. Twichell coming to General Assembly? I wish he would. I am to have four delegates— Press him to come and bring you as layman, I’ll certify to your being qualified and I’ll give you my best rooms.

      Don’t burden your conscience now by neglecting to write to me. Face the undertaking as one of your duties. It is a shame for you not to let me hear of you all, at least once a month, because among all your mothers no one holds you and yours more tenderly than I— / Mary M. Fairbanks / [MTPO].

Sister Mary F. Clare wrote from Kerry, Ireland, enclosing flyers “home for destitute Irish girls” and begging for a donation [MTP].